


where are you?

by peter_parkerson



Series: Febuwhump 2019 [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Depressed Peter Parker, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Febuwhump 2019, Gen, Irondad, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Peter Parker, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, this one got really. heavy, uhh please be careful with this one folks dont read if its a trigger for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 16:16:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17665892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peter_parkerson/pseuds/peter_parkerson
Summary: Febuwhump Day 4: "Where are you?"“Where are you?”The call patches through, because of course it does. It’s Tony’s suit, after all, and apparently two declined calls at 3 in the morning is enough for his mentor to force Karen to pick up the call regardless of what Peter tells her to do. He should’ve known not to bring the mask, but he’d just wanted to talk to someone for a bit and Karen seemed like the best choice at the time.“That depends,” Peter says, tone flat. His grip on the railing he’s sitting on tightens, and his gaze settles on the outline of the tallest building in his line of sight. “Do you mean physically or mentally?”He’s being difficult, just because he can. Because he’s just out of it enough that the little voice in his head that constantly snaps at him to be as easy to handle as possible has quieted.He kicks his feet back and forth like a child on a swing whose feet don’t reach the ground and has to remind himself that he actually is a child. Not even sixteen, not for another two weeks.Not at all, if he actually goes through with this.





	where are you?

**Author's Note:**

> day 4 of febuwhump (can be found here https://spidersonangst.tumblr.com/post/181695744243/hey-guys-since-i-love-sleeplessly-reading-about)

“Where are you?”

 

The call patches through, because of course it does. It’s Tony’s suit, after all, and apparently two declined calls at 3 in the morning is enough for his mentor to force Karen to pick up the call regardless of what Peter tells her to do. He should’ve known not to bring the mask, but he’d just wanted to talk to someone for a bit and Karen seemed like the best choice at the time.

 

“That depends,” Peter says, tone flat. His grip on the railing he’s sitting on tightens, and his gaze settles on the outline of the tallest building in his line of sight. “Do you mean physically or mentally?”

  
He’s being difficult, just because he can. Because he’s just out of it enough that the little voice in his head that constantly snaps at him to be as easy to handle as possible has quieted.

 

He kicks his feet back and forth like a child on a swing whose feet don’t reach the ground and has to remind himself that he actually is a child. Not even sixteen, not for another two weeks.

 

Not at all, if he actually goes through with this.

 

He hasn’t quite decided yet. He’d thought he had, when he was making his way here, but apparently it’s one thing to be certain in the comfort of his own bed and another thing entirely to be certain on the edge of the Queensboro bridge.

 

Peter will be the first to say that he’s not afraid of dying, and until now he’d thought that to be true.

 

Maybe he’s not afraid of dying. Maybe he’s just afraid of what will happen in the aftermath.

 

Part of him knows that May, who never signed up to be a parent anyway, will ultimately be better off without him. As will Tony, who never really needed him. And Ned, who could make better friends if he wasn’t stuck with him.

 

But there’s a little piece of him that’s saying, _They don’t want to lose you. May doesn’t want to lose her only family, Tony doesn’t want to lose his mentee, Ned doesn’t want to lose his best friend._

 

That little piece of him is what’s kept him perched on the railing this long. He wishes it would shut the hell up.

 

“ _Physically,_ Peter,” Tony snaps, but there’s way more anxiety in his voice than anger. Peter kind of wishes he would shut up too, but difficult or not, he’d never say that out loud. “We’ll talk about ‘mentally’ when I get there.”

 

 _This is what you get for putting the tracker in the suit and not the mask,_ Peter thinks. _Rookie mistake._

 

He hums softly, considers just taking the mask off and letting Tony talk to air. Almost does before it hits him that being an asshole to Tony would be the last thing he does.

 

Huh.

 

He hadn’t thought about any of that.

 

(He doesn’t remember the last thing his parents said to him. He was only four when they died, he barely remembers anything they said to him.

 

He remembers exactly what Uncle Ben told him before he died in his arms.

 

He doesn’t know which one hurts less.)

 

What’s the last thing he said to May? To Ned?

 

Did he tell them he loves them? Did he tell them that they mean the world to him and he never could’ve asked for a better aunt-turned-mother or a better best friend?

 

Do they know how important they are to him?

 

They have to. May, Ned, Tony, they all have to know that they’re the reasons Peter has even held on this long. They have to know that everything, _everything_ Peter did was for them.

 

They have to.

 

...But what if they don’t?

 

He knows what it’s like to blame yourself for someone else’s death, despite not being the one who pulled the trigger or pushed them off the bridge. He knows just how much it hurts to spend your days wondering what you could’ve done different, what you could have done _better._ Wondering if you could’ve saved them, or at least made their death a little less painful. Wondering if it was all caused by something you did or didn’t do.

 

Wondering if, directly or indirectly, it’s all your fault.

 

Can he put that burden on someone else?

 

Does he even want to do this?

 

He always hears people say that it gets better. That there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. That things are never as hopeless as they seem.

 

What if all of that is true and he ends up missing out because he was too weak to hang on?

 

Maybe he is afraid of dying.

 

(He’s afraid of living, too. Truly, deeply afraid of living. But isn’t everyone?)

 

Fuck. _Fuck._

 

He wants to do this. He was ready to do this, ready to find what he’d thought would be the answer to all his problems. He came out here for one reason and one reason only, and that was to jump.

 

But now that he’s let himself think, now that he’s let himself feel…

 

He’s terrified. He’s sad and exhausted and hurting and _terrified._

 

A shiver runs down his spine as the cold air bites at his bare skin. He didn’t change before leaving the apartment, didn’t think he’d be out here long enough for the fact that he’s wearing basketball shorts and a thin t-shirt to matter.

 

(Didn’t think he’d be alive long enough for it to matter.)

 

And yet, here he is. Freezing his ass off in the middle of the night because he’s a coward.

 

 _I’m a coward,_ he thinks as he looks down one last time, takes in the distance between the top of the bridge and the water below, then sucks in a breath and jerks his head back.

 

 _I’m a coward,_ he thinks as he stares up at the night sky and just breathes for a long moment.

 

 _I’m a coward,_ he thinks as he cuts off whatever Tony is saying to tell him, “I’m on the Queensboro bridge,” and then pulls the mask off with one hand, holding firm on the railing with the other, and lays it neatly across his lap.

 

 _I’m doing the right thing,_ he tells himself as he sits on the edge of a bridge and waits.

 

He doesn’t believe it, but the words do have a certain ring to them.

 

 

* * *

  
  


Peter knows exactly where Tony is without looking up for a solid two minutes before his mentor even lands on the bridge. When he finally joins Peter, who still hasn’t bothered to climb down from the railing (it’s like a safety net, somehow, the knowledge that he is still one mere slip of the fingers away from the end), Peter glances over and gives a haphazard wave.

 

“Hey, Mr. Stark.” His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, casual and nonchalant but in that way that someone who’s given up on being aware (or awake. Or alive). “How’s your night going?”

 

The Iron Man suit opens up to reveal a pajama-clad Tony, whose expression screams _what the actual fuck, kid?_ His eyes flit over Peter, multiple times, until he seems satisfied that he’s unhurt. That, for the time being, he’s at least physically okay.

 

His mental stability is still a whole other story, but. But. He’s alive. He’s breathing.

 

That’s got to count for something.

 

(Or maybe it’s the opposite, maybe the fact that he’s alive and breathing makes everything that much worse.)

 

“It was pretty alright until Karen told me that a certain teenage spider-kid was outside in his mask at 3 AM,” Tony replies, and _his_ nonchalance is markedly forced. Carefully, but with no measure of reluctance, he swings his legs over the bridge railing and settles next to Peter. “You wanna tell me what you’re doing on the edge of a bridge at this time of night?”

 

Peter tugs lightly at his earlobe, a nervous tick that he’s had for as long as he can remember. Says, “Maybe. What do I get for it?”

 

The joke doesn’t go over very well, which…was to be expected, he supposes. Tony just stares at him. “Peter.”

 

Tony only calls him by his real name when it’s serious. It’s always _Pete_ or _kiddo_ or _Underoos_.

 

“I’m not going to.” He has to offer something. He _is,_ in fact, aware that this is not normal, nor okay, in any sense of the words, and there’s really no point in dragging it out. “Jump, I mean. I’m not - I wanted to, but now I…don’t. I - I can’t.”

 

A gentle hand covers his. “I’m glad you didn’t. But - but Peter, you’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

 

Peter almost wishes he could cry. Just to let out all the... _stuff_ that’s burning low in his chest, that’s been trying to eat a hole in his skin for as long as he can remember. But his tone is level, miraculously so, even as he says, “I don’t really…know what to tell you, Mr. Stark.”

 

Tony’s quiet. After a moment, Peter turns his head to watch the emotions play out across the profile of his face, watch him try to figure out what the hell to say.

 

He’s not sure what he wants Tony to say. He’s not sure what he needs to hear right now.

 

Slowly, Tony says, “You can start by telling me why you’re up here. Or - or you can start from the beginning... if there is one.”

 

Peter bites down on his bottom lip, hard. Lets go of the railing with his right hand and runs it up and down his thigh. He can practically taste his own anxiety, and he wonders if that’s part of the enhanced senses or if that’s just part of his regular-person issues.

 

“I...sometimes I feel like everyone would be better off without me.”

 

He can feel just how badly Tony wants to say, _We wouldn’t_ , but he stays silent. Lets Peter work up to saying what he needs to say.

 

Because he needs to say it.

 

Because he realizes now.

 

He never wanted to die. He wanted someone to save him.

 

And maybe that someone has to be himself.

 

“I spend a lot of time hating myself. I - I think I’m too…annoying or stupid or - or _worthless_ , and I feel like I’m a burden, and there’s this…this part of my head that just keeps telling me that I’m a fuck-up and that I’m - that I could fix all of that by just...just…”

 

He stops. Squeezes his eyes shut, feels Tony squeeze his hand. Takes a deep, shaky breath. Keeps going. “There’s so much _stuff,_ Mr. Stark. In - in my head. It’s never...it’s never quiet anymore, Mr. Stark. I can barely hear myself think anymore because it’s so fucking loud. My head is so fucking _loud_ and I - I just - it’s so _much_ -”

 

It doesn’t even feel real. Every word sounds like it’s referring to someone else.

 

But no. This is all him.

 

The tears still don’t come. Tony’s saying something, but Peter can’t listen because he’s too busy looking down and realizing that he is one mere slip of the fingers away from the end.

 

Dizzily, he swings a leg over the railing and climbs down. As soon as his feet touch solid ground, he’s dropping to his hands and knees, the steadiness finally leaving him.

 

He’s shaking.

 

He’s shaking and he feels like the whole world has finally come crashing down around him, but he’s alive. And he’s breathing.

 

“We’ll get you some help,” Tony is saying. Peter can’t tell if Tony’s crying or if he is.

 

He’s pulled into a hug. One hand rubs gentle circles into his back while another threads into the hair as the base of his head.

 

“You’ll be okay, Peter. We’ll get you some help, and you’ll be alright, I promise.”

 

And he’s alive.

 

And he’s breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> all of these fics are written in literally a day (weird flex but ok) so like. go easy on me i'm tired
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](https://peter-parkerson.tumblr.com/)


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